closed her eyes.
She opened them to the rattle of the windowpanes as the bell commenced its morning greeting, and she counted the tolls as her eyes catalogued the bedchamber: dim gray light of dawn; rain pattering the windowpanes mercilessly; and Aphrodite’s pale face staring at her from the dressing table with blank eyes.
After the seventh ring, the church bell went silent.
Calista opened her mouth and screamed.
Chapter Eight
“Her ladyship is unwell.”
“That’s no surprise, after the way she shocked everybody in the place with that hollering to raise the dead,” Molly mumbled.
“I’ve just been up to her and she is in a rare state of agitation, to be sure.” Mrs. Whittle bustled around the kitchen. “She wants a pot of tea, three eggs, bacon, steak, kippers, muffins and marmalade brought up.”
“But we don’t serve in the bedchambers, do we?”
“As Mr. Smythe’s family has taken the private parlor, while she’s a true noble lady, it’s the least I can do, especially seeing as she’s unwell. There’s her tray.”
“All of that for a lady who’s ill?” Molly exclaimed. “Does she have somebody up there in that room with her?”
“Keep a civil tongue, child.” The innkeeper shook her finger. “On top of the Smythes, I’ve got two dozen souls to feed, a lady invalid, and a lord in the taproom. I’ve no time for your impertinence. Go on now.”
“Yes, Aunt Meg.”
Tacitus pushed the kitchen door wide and cleared his throat.
“Milord! You shouldn’t be in here.” Mrs. Whittle hurried forward.
“Mrs. Whittle, the constable has just told us all that the village is encircled with flood and the roads entirely closed.”
“Glory be! And Mr. Whittle still in Wallings. What am I to do?”
“The very reason I’m here. Last night I heard you mention his absence. I’m certain my manservant would be much more useful to you in practical matters, but alas I am traveling without him. However, I can shine boots and chop wood with the best of them. I offer my services to you, if you are in need of an extra hand.”
“Dear me! Now I’ve heard something I never imagined: a lord offering a poor innkeeper help. And the village flooded, too. Glory be, the world’s turned upside down today.”
“In truth, it is either assist you or pass the morning losing every coin in my pockets at cards with Mr. Anderson and Mr. Peabody. They already lifted a pony off me last night and I’ve little left to spare. I should have suspected an accountant’s clerk and a bookseller would know their way around a deck of cards. We politicians are much more honest, it turns out.”
Molly giggled, bumped into a counter, and a dish slipped out of her hand and crashed to the floor.
“You clumsy girl,” Mrs. Whittle scolded. “Clean that up and then carry that tray upstairs to her ladyship, if you can manage it without spilling it all over the stairs. Some girls aren’t born with coordination,” she said to Tacitus and scraped eggs from a skillet onto a plate already laden with food. “You’re a fine gentleman to offer help, but I’m sure I can’t think of a thing I could ask of you.”
“Is that for Lady Holland?”
“Yes, milord.” She set the plate on a tray. “Molly, go on now, before it all grows cold as stone.”
He moved into the kitchen. “By the way, there is a lady by the name of Mrs. Tinkerson in the foyer asking to speak with you. About a bonnet, I believe.”
“Oh, she’s a pushy one. But I do like that chip straw hat with green taffeta she’s got in the window.”
“Also, there are a number of patrons in the taproom hoping to have their cups refilled. Allow me to save Molly the trip upstairs.”
“Oh, no, milord. That wouldn’t be proper—”
“Lady Holland and I are old friends.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. Not really. Except the part about being friends. “She won’t mind it.” Judging from her attitude toward him last night, she would probably bite off his
She opened them to the rattle of the windowpanes as the bell commenced its morning greeting, and she counted the tolls as her eyes catalogued the bedchamber: dim gray light of dawn; rain pattering the windowpanes mercilessly; and Aphrodite’s pale face staring at her from the dressing table with blank eyes.
After the seventh ring, the church bell went silent.
Calista opened her mouth and screamed.
Chapter Eight
“Her ladyship is unwell.”
“That’s no surprise, after the way she shocked everybody in the place with that hollering to raise the dead,” Molly mumbled.
“I’ve just been up to her and she is in a rare state of agitation, to be sure.” Mrs. Whittle bustled around the kitchen. “She wants a pot of tea, three eggs, bacon, steak, kippers, muffins and marmalade brought up.”
“But we don’t serve in the bedchambers, do we?”
“As Mr. Smythe’s family has taken the private parlor, while she’s a true noble lady, it’s the least I can do, especially seeing as she’s unwell. There’s her tray.”
“All of that for a lady who’s ill?” Molly exclaimed. “Does she have somebody up there in that room with her?”
“Keep a civil tongue, child.” The innkeeper shook her finger. “On top of the Smythes, I’ve got two dozen souls to feed, a lady invalid, and a lord in the taproom. I’ve no time for your impertinence. Go on now.”
“Yes, Aunt Meg.”
Tacitus pushed the kitchen door wide and cleared his throat.
“Milord! You shouldn’t be in here.” Mrs. Whittle hurried forward.
“Mrs. Whittle, the constable has just told us all that the village is encircled with flood and the roads entirely closed.”
“Glory be! And Mr. Whittle still in Wallings. What am I to do?”
“The very reason I’m here. Last night I heard you mention his absence. I’m certain my manservant would be much more useful to you in practical matters, but alas I am traveling without him. However, I can shine boots and chop wood with the best of them. I offer my services to you, if you are in need of an extra hand.”
“Dear me! Now I’ve heard something I never imagined: a lord offering a poor innkeeper help. And the village flooded, too. Glory be, the world’s turned upside down today.”
“In truth, it is either assist you or pass the morning losing every coin in my pockets at cards with Mr. Anderson and Mr. Peabody. They already lifted a pony off me last night and I’ve little left to spare. I should have suspected an accountant’s clerk and a bookseller would know their way around a deck of cards. We politicians are much more honest, it turns out.”
Molly giggled, bumped into a counter, and a dish slipped out of her hand and crashed to the floor.
“You clumsy girl,” Mrs. Whittle scolded. “Clean that up and then carry that tray upstairs to her ladyship, if you can manage it without spilling it all over the stairs. Some girls aren’t born with coordination,” she said to Tacitus and scraped eggs from a skillet onto a plate already laden with food. “You’re a fine gentleman to offer help, but I’m sure I can’t think of a thing I could ask of you.”
“Is that for Lady Holland?”
“Yes, milord.” She set the plate on a tray. “Molly, go on now, before it all grows cold as stone.”
He moved into the kitchen. “By the way, there is a lady by the name of Mrs. Tinkerson in the foyer asking to speak with you. About a bonnet, I believe.”
“Oh, she’s a pushy one. But I do like that chip straw hat with green taffeta she’s got in the window.”
“Also, there are a number of patrons in the taproom hoping to have their cups refilled. Allow me to save Molly the trip upstairs.”
“Oh, no, milord. That wouldn’t be proper—”
“Lady Holland and I are old friends.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. Not really. Except the part about being friends. “She won’t mind it.” Judging from her attitude toward him last night, she would probably bite off his
Similar Books
